Such words were close to blasphemy in the ears of Redclaw, and he could scarcely believe them. Not long ago he’d gathered wolves together, rallied them to attack the village of Durham. Yes, they’d lost, but their foes had been vicious, and possessing such strange magics. One man had fought with a shield shining with painful light, another a blade consumed with dark fire. They’d defeated his pack, but he was stronger now, gifted with similar otherworldly magic.
“Why did you not tell me this before?” he asked. “When you led me into the cave, when you called me Wolf King…why, if you thought it hopeless?”
Silver-Ear let out a sigh.
“Because we have always hoped. We pray to the moon to deliver us a paradise full of fat game and warm blood. The humans fight among themselves, no different than us. One day they may not be ready, and we may claw a tiny scrap of land for our own. And then we would guard it closely, like we guard our pups, so it can grow. So it becomes something strong. But even that is still a dream.”
“Why?” Redclaw asked. “Why, if we are so much stronger than they? Why is it terrible for us to dream of a land our young can hunt on with pride instead of this ugly yellow grass?”
“Because we are but a speck to them!” Silver-Ear cried, grabbing his arm and holding it tight. Immediately she let go, clutching her hand to her breast as the smell of burned fur reached Redclaw’s nose. He thought to say something, to apologize, but Silver-Ear continued on.
“Just a speck,” she said. “There are more humans than you can understand, Redclaw. Our ten packs of a hundred each are nothing. They have armies that make us look like a fly biting an orc’s ear. Do you not remember the stories? In the days of our creation, the first Wolf King led hundreds beyond hundreds down the river, and still we were crushed by the men in their metal armor, their wizards with their evil magic, and their champions with their glowing blades. They hate us, they fear us, and they will never let us escape the prison they have made for us.”
“Why do you tell me this?” Redclaw asked softly. “Why would you try to crush all hope?”
“Because Cyric would have us war against them,” she said. “We’ll travel miles beyond the river. We’ll feast well at first. We’ll drink the blood of our kills, and we’ll howl to the moon following our victories. But then the humans will strike back. They are not like us. They take time to prepare for a battle, but when it comes, they will bury us in waves of glinting metal stretching across the horizon. We’ll die, surrounded, alone, in a land we have never seen before, and will never see again. Cyric says we are to become like we were in days of old, and worship the human god Karak. We died in the days of old, Redclaw. And we’ll die now.”
The shaman stopped, and the music of the cicadas filled her silence. Redclaw clenched and unclenched his paws, trying to think through what she’d said, trying to understand where he stood in all this. He was Wolf King, but he was also Cyric’s champion. When the strange man had come into Redclaw’s camp, he’d bested him with ease, forced him to his knees, and then demanded obedience under threat of death. There was no doubting his strength, and no doubting the strength he could bestow upon others.
“You speak with the wisdom of ages,” Redclaw said, the words heavy on his tongue. “But I will still lead, and I will still fight.”
“Why, Redclaw?”
He turned away from her.
“Because no matter how terrible the chance, Cyric might be who he says he is. This is no time for small dreams. Even if we fail, at least we have tried to conquer. At least we’ll have tried to make a better life for our pups.”
“You’re a wise male,” Silver-Ear said as he stalked away. “Keep your eyes open, my Wolf King, and never forget who you serve.”
Who did he serve? Redclaw pondered this as he returned to the camp. Was it Cyric, his pack, or himself? And did it matter, so long as those loyal to him could feast upon the blood of the weaker?
The sun was soon to rise, and he settled down to sleep near his pups. Not close enough to touch, but enough to hear their breathing, see the rise and fall of their tiny chests.
10
Valessa sat at the end of the docks before the waters of the Gihon. It was the only place she knew to find solace. Torches and patrols covered the tops of the walls, and tents filled the space between the tower and the walls. It seemed nothing had changed, only instead of it being Karak’s mercenaries, it was Daniel Coldmine’s men who controlled the insignificant construction of stone and brick. To think she’d given everything to take it. Everything…